


whether you fail or fly

by cyclical (nextgreatadventure)



Category: Once Upon a Time RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextgreatadventure/pseuds/cyclical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lana and Jen aren't exactly friends, but Lana would bring down the moon for a perfect stranger, so it's actually ideal, this little routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whether you fail or fly

**Author's Note:**

> this is a secret story for my secret friend who is not so secretly one of my favorite people.
> 
> like, I don't even know what to say about this. it is awful but it manifested anyway, like so many things in life. _be cool_ , need I remind you that this is utter ~~bullshit~~ fiction. deal with it shades.

\---

 

 

It's two AM Vancouver time when the phone rings and Lana starts, scrambling to cease the loud jangling and vibrating on the bedside table. 

She swipes a finger across the screen without checking whose voice to expect on the other line. "This had better be good," she rasps, because yeah she's a morning person, but it's still _night_ and she's gotta be on set in two hours.

There is silence on the other end, and Lana considers repeating herself, but then the tiniest cough and a frustrated sigh meet her ears.

"Hey, uh. Sorry to wake you."

Lana sits up straighter, knees to chest. Runs a hand through her sleep-messy hair. "Don't worry about it," she murmurs. "Need a ride again?"

Jen doesn't party much, doesn't want to anymore, but Sebastian does.

There is a pause, and when Jen speaks again, Lana turns her gaze to watch the gentle rise and fall of the chest beside her. 

"I don't know--I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

Lana knows Jennifer could call a cab, but this is her _life_ , and it's kind of fucked up right now. She doesn't need any unnecessary unwanted recognition of her stupid decisions, doesn't need some cab driver looking at the mascara under her eyes and _aren't you on that fairytale show_ \--

Lana and Jen aren't exactly friends, but Lana would bring down the moon for a perfect stranger, so it's actually ideal, this little routine. Jen's other friends in Vancouver are too close; Ginny would fuss and hover like the mother she plays on TV. She doesn't want Josh to know about this, anyway. Jen looks up to them and every shortcoming in her personal life makes her feel like a fuck-up when compared with her best friends, who have a literal fairytale-perfect relationship.

"I really am sorry, I didn't want to wake you guys. I know Fred's working a lot and you've got like a stupid-o'clock call time--"

Lana scrubs a hand down her face. "--seriously Jen, don't worry about it. I can be there in twenty. You on Granville again?"

Jen sobs, and then abruptly tries to pretend she didn’t. "Yeah."

Lana's already slipping on some jeans, checking for keys. She stops, staring at her closet door. There is still a strip of moonlight there; dawn won't break for at least three more hours. The phone is already gripped tightly in her right hand, but she brings her left up to steady it. "Hey," she says softly. "Just go outside and take some deep breaths, okay? If Baz asks where you're going, tell him to fuck off."

Jen laughs, wetly.

Lana smiles around the way she's biting her lip. "Be there soon."

 

[] [] []

 

The bass from the club hits Lana's Prius before she even rounds the block. She idles one street up and over, just to be safe, and shoots Jen a text. 

When Jen slides into the front seat, the car is warm and smells like leather and the cocoa butter lotion Lana gave all the girls for Christmas.

"He is way too fucking young for you," Lana tells her. Her voice is smooth and dark and there's the hint of a chuckle there, but her eyes are a warning.

"Yeah, yeah." Jen watches the bright neon lights of Granville pass on by. "Tell me something I don't know."

"It took Tolstoy six years to write War and Peace," Lana offers.

Jen smirks. "I knew that. Good old college degree at work, huh."

Lana takes a slow turn onto the freeway. "How much have you had to drink?"

The streetlights are dizzying. Jen rests her forehead against the cool window, listens to the whisper of crinkled leather as Lana grips the steering wheel more tightly. "Just apple juice from a sippy cup, _mom_."

When Lana looks over, Jen is smiling sleepily at her.

Lana shakes her head, because Jen is impossible. They are not friends. "I'll put some clean sheets on the couch," she says.

Jen just sighs.

Lana thinks about how dark it is outside beyond the freeway lights, about how she’s going to explain this one to Fred and the boys. _I thought you guys didn’t really like each other,_ her boyfriend had said last time Jen slept on their couch, a stupid sly grin on his stupid handsome face. She’d switched off the bedside lamp and kissed him to shut him up. Lana shakes her head again, eyes on the road.

Jen has curled up in the seat, chewing on her fingernails. With anyone else, Lana would find this childish. Jen isn’t childish. She’s smart and dedicated and private and strong but she’s also reckless and naive about the things everyone else their age have figured out by now.

When Jen’s fingers brush her wrist, Lana looks over sharply. Jen doesn’t touch her unless they’re pretending to strangle one another as Emma and Regina. From what Lana has noticed, she doesn’t touch anyone at all unless she's got a script in her hand that tells her she has to.

“I’ve never asked you about this, have I,” she pokes at Lana’s feather tattoo.

“No,” Lana says.

“Is it a good story?”

Jennifer’s smile is infectious, but so is Lana’s. “I think so.”

Lana flips on her signal, and Jen pulls her hand back. Starts to chew her nails again. 

“Tell it to me sometime, when we both need a distraction," she says around her fingers.

They’re almost back to the house, now.

 

[] [] []

 

“You know where the kitchen is,” Lana reminds Jen, setting a water bottle beside the couch, “if you need more.”

Lana’s spare sheets are fire-orange and higher quality than anything Jen has ever bought for herself. 

There’s an hour and twenty minutes before Lana’s alarm clock is set to go off. If she sets the coffee timer now, she can sleep in an extra ten.

“I think I’ll be back around four, but you know how it is. Might be dinnertime. Fred’s taking the boys to his brother’s for the weekend. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

Jen’s eyes are still a little glazed, but she’s always more sober than she looks. The downturned corners of her mouth pluck upwards. “Uh, Lana. Thank you. For everything. I hope your day doesn’t suck.” _I’m sorry I’m a mess_ is what her wide, sad eyes say.

Sometimes, Jen is so profoundly sincere that just witnessing it makes something in Lana’s chest feel tight. “Hey,” she smiles before she turns to leave. “ _De nada_.” 

Of nothing, Lana thinks, because it's not like they are friends.

 

[] [] []

 

The sound of keys hitting a glass jar makes Jen stir a little beneath the big down comforter, but she falls asleep again almost immediately.

When she stirs again, it’s because she hears pipes clanking as the shower turns off. Her neck hurts a little because while Lana’s couch is comfortable enough, Jen’s lanky and bad at hiding it.

She pads down the hallway and raps her knuckles against what she assumes is Lana’s bedroom door.

“You’re awake! Come on in.”

According to the digital clock on the bedside table, it’s nearly six. “Oh god,” Jen moans. “Jesus. I slept all fucking day.”

Lana is towel drying her hair. She has on a black tank and purple underwear and nothing else. Her laugh is deep and throaty and full-bodied. Real. “Yeah you did, princess.”

Jen yawns and rubs at her eyes. She tries not to watch Lana get dressed and wonders vaguely if she should leave. “How was work?”

“God, Jen. Ginny nailed her coverage on the first take, it was insane. It was so cold Rob and Paul had to use hand warmers on like, half our mics though.”

“Sounds like a good day.”

Lana slips on some yoga pants and turns to look at her. “She kept texting you, I think. Ginny. She's worried.”

“I haven’t checked my phone since my head hit that couch.”

Jen’s crystal gaze is downcast and she still looks so, so tired. It's not Lana's job to babysit, that's not what Jen needs her for. Their relationship, or lack thereof, might not be healthy but it _is_ honest. Lana wants Jen to be okay and Jen wants someone she doesn't have to pretend around. 

Whether they like each other or not really has nothing to do with it.

“Hey, no need," Lana says gently. "It’s B-week, right? You don’t have any obligations til Monday.” And then, a little hesitantly, “You can always hide out here.”

Jen looks up. “Yeah?”

“That’s what I’m here for. I’m alone tonight, too. I can cook us a yummy dinner.”

If Jennifer went home, she’d be greeted by an empty house and whatever pre-mixed salad thing she’d bought from the BC equivalent of Trader Joe’s last week and a pack of lukewarm pretentious imported beer Seb left in the garage. She's been in Vancouver for almost two years now for the show, but she still has unpacked boxes sitting around.

Jen doesn’t want to be alone, and Lana knows it.

Lana’s house has this feel to it that Jen loves. Sometimes Lana can be such an actress and such a ham and it’s okay, it's fine if it's not a little annoying, but here in her home, she’s so disturbingly _herself_. Jen loathes inauthenticity (hilarious, given her choice of profession) and about three quarters of the time, Lana is one of the most authentic people Jen has ever met.

Also, one time, Lana brought homemade Puerto Rican chocolate rum balls to set and they were completely out of control. She knows the dame can cook.

"I don't want to impose," she tells Lana.

Lana thinks about how it's already a little late for that, but she just smiles. It's weird and it's not weird, having Jen sitting here on her bed. Knowing she'll stay for dinner. "Tacos, carbonara, sushi," she lists. "I can make a mean sofrito."

"You're the chef, lady." Nobody has ever really cooked for Jen without expecting something in return. Usually a night in her bed.

"Alright," Lana says. She has obviously had a good day because as she passes on her way out the door, she gives one of Jen's messy curls a tug. She hasn't done that since last year, when they still worked together every day. Jen thought it was a little presumptuous then even though she secretly kind of craved the familiar gesture. That hasn't changed. "Hope you like surprises."

 

[] [] []

 

Dinner is pretty fucking amazing and afterward, Lana makes popcorn and opens a bottle of really, really good red wine. Lola curls up at Lana's feet, and she reaches down to pet her fondly every five minutes on the dot. Not like Jen notices though, or anything.

They watch a few episodes of Community and then flip the channel and it's ABC and Modern Family and they have to stop to watch that, too, out of some subconscious incestuous network obligation.

They laugh at all the same jokes, which surprises them both, as if they still can't believe they'd have anything in common as base as a sense of humor. It feels surreal but nice. 

A few hours later the TV gets boring so Lana flips on the record player, Born To Die, because she's got decent taste in new music. Lana tells Jen to stay the night, that Jen can even have her bed, that she'll sleep in Jack's room.

They open another bottle of wine.

 

[] [] []

 

“So let’s finally breach this, just me and you,” Lana says. She looks loose, cheeks flushed a deep red, eyes sparkling, biting her lip in a way that looks both nervous and coy. “What about all the fans that want to see Emma and Regina together? That’s like, a fucking _thing_. I never know what to say.”

Jen squints and sets her glass back down. Lenny has found Jen and more importantly Jen's _lap_ and _wow, he's usually frighteningly misanthropic_ Lana had laughed, surprised at the way the ancient cat purred beneath Jen's scratching fingernails. _Makes two of us_ , Jen had said out loud without really meaning to. Lana had laughed anyway.

“Hmm,” Jen says now. “Yeah.”

She does look thoughtful, like she’s going to continue her train of thought, and so Lana just sips her wine and waits.

“I guess I just, listen. Can I be honest with you?”

Lana furrows her dark eyebrows. “Of course.”

Jen picks at the corner of one of Lana’s couch pillows. “I guess it’s like, I mean it’s not like I’ve never thought about it. I think anyone can get how going there would be symmetrical and really satisfying narratively, even though I think half the audience would see it as some political stunt which is moronic but I guess _my_ thing is, whenever I think about it, my mind goes straight to...to kissing you.”

She starts laughing because Lana starts laughing and they are nowhere near sloppy, but maybe, probably, they _are_ drunk.

“I’m a damn good kisser,” Lana says. “Just throwing that out there.”

“It’s in your genes, lady.” Jen rolls her eyes. "You're like, Italian _and_ Puerto Rican and nobody should have the right."

Lana laughs. “I like the part about how they’d be a family,” she says, quietly, after a moment. “How they'd finally have that love they all deserve. I like that part.”

Jen chances a glance across the couch. It’s strange, she thinks. She and Lana have worked so well together since day one, but away from the cameras, they’d always been pretty formal, leaning toward cold. When they talked, it was pleasant but not very real. If they weren't with the rest of the cast, it was usually about their scenes.

Right now, it feels pretty real.

"Yeah," she says, reaching back out for more wine because she feels the vulnerability coming on like bile in the back of her throat and she needs help swallowing it back down. "That would be nice."

Lana's still on the kissing thing, but she doesn't want to bring it back up because she's pretty sure it would make Jen uncomfortable if she asked why. Would kissing her be a bad thing? She wants to know why Jen hasn't warmed to her like she has with the rest of the cast.

Jen's dated a lot of her co-stars and it is a confusing and odd thing, this acting that they do. Jen's super professional, has been her whole life, but those lines blur a lot, especially if your personal life feels uncertain. Kissing someone for the camera, fighting with someone because your characters hate each other, pretending to be in love... these are all things that have bearing on a subconscious mind, whether an actor wants them to or not.

Lana decides to keep with the tone but change the subject. "I'm still worried about--" -- _you_ , no, she can't say that, they aren't friends. "I mean. Not that I'm complaining about coming to your rescue, but friendly reminder that Baz is still in his twenties. And kind of a jerk."

Jen barks a humorless laugh. "Yeah," she says. He's also a sweetheart when he wants to be and everyone knows it, but Jen isn't sober enough to pretend he's what she really needs. "I think maybe it'll fizzle out sooner rather than later. It'll make a nice edition to my collection of failed relationships, a real trophy. You tried," she sighs, a self-deprecating twist to her lips. "Gold star, Jen."

Lana frowns and drapes a long, bare arm across the back of the couch; Jen watches that arm closely. "Don't," Lana says. "That's not being fair to yourself."

"I don't want to talk about this," Jen states abruptly. 

Lana doesn't blink, eyes sliding down Jen's neck and back up again. "Okay," she replies softly.

There are a few moments of silence wherein Jen scrubs roughly at her face just to ease some pent-up frustration, and the world spins and spins and spins and it's not until Lana lays a hand on her arm that everything finally stops whirling beyond her reach and she can open her eyes again.

It is a strange moment: Jen isn't thinking, just watches Lana bite her bottom lip and they both let their gazes linger a little too long. Lana's heart does something funny, looking at Jen's face this close again (bright and beautiful with a perpetual shade of sadness that almost seems to become her). Without thinking either, Lana reaches to cup that face, sweeps a thumb across Jen's cheek.

"You look so tired," she whispers. 

Jen lets a long, shaky breath slip past her lips. Last year she and Lana spent every day on set together snarking and staring one another down, and this year they barely see each other at all. Neither of them had really realized how easy it had actually been between them until now. How maybe even though they hadn't ever been close, they still missed each other, just a little bit. They missed the chemistry and the ease.

"Stop," Jen hisses now, and it takes her turning her face away for Lana to realize what she means. Lana takes her hand away.

Forehead in her palms, hair messy, Jen peers over to watch Lana watching her. "God," she murmurs, barely audible, because it isn't fair. Lana's dark eyes can see right through her, and Lana keeps biting her bottom lip and her hands are so soft, nails painted the color of black cherries. Somewhere in the back of her mind Jen has a flash of them raking down her back.

"I'm gonna go to bed," she says, louder. Lana looks confused. "If that's okay."

"Sure." Lana's brows are furrowed again. She wants to ask if something is wrong, but she doesn't feel like she can right now. Jen looks like she’s about to break, and even if it were Lana’s job to fix her, Jen wouldn’t let her. Standing up, Lana sifts a hand through her hair and looks around like she's seeing her own house for the first time. "Well, you know where the room is. I'll be first door down the hall if...if you need me."

It's a strange thing to say, but there it is. Lana wants Jen to be okay, after all. She’s not going to pretend like she doesn't care, even for Jen’s sake.

 

Jen falls into the huge master bed a few minutes later, throwing an arm up over her eyes. She doesn't bother to change or brush her teeth with the spare toothbrush Lana gave her, just tugs away her pants and shirt and tries to shut off her wine-drunk brain.

The sheets have been changed but they still smell like cocoa butter and Jen tries so hard to talk herself into sleep, to forget about how lonely she feels, to forget about how Lana is right down the hall (if she needs her). She tries to forget about how concerned Lana's eyes were tonight, how she's taking care of Jen for no earthly reason Jen can fathom let alone fathom _deserving_. 

She thinks about Sebastian and she thinks about her almost-marriage and she thinks about her friends and family who only want her to be happy. Jen _is_ happy, most days, but...

No, that is not something she is going to think about any more tonight.

It’s another hour before she falls asleep, and when she does she dreams about being twenty again, taking the PCH at seventy, letting the warm California air whip through her long hair like a flag.

 

[] [] [] 

 

When Lana wakes up in the morning, Jen is gone but she’s got a message from her on her cell phone. 

_Thanks for letting me stay. I owe you a bottle or two._

The bed is immaculately made and the dishes from the night before are loaded up in the dishwasher. Lana stares at her phone for a good five minutes, trying to figure out whether or not to reply. In the end, she deletes the message and heads into the shower.

 

[] [] [] 

 

It’s a rainy Friday afternoon on set. Everyone is hoping the downpour stops soon, because they’ve got outside scenes to shoot and the weekend is imminent.

Jen is in her trailer with her nose in a book when Ginny drops by.

“Hi sweetheart,” she greets, holding out a triple soy macchiato with toffeenut. There’s a Starbucks a few blocks away that the cast and crew could practically live at. The baristas there service a few other casts and crews too, but they always say Once is their favorite. “Josh and Lana and I decided on a coffee run to pass the time.”

Jen sets the book down and raises a thin blonde brow. She smiles widely. “I hope this isn’t a bribe like last time.”

“Nope.”

“Thank you Baby Jesus,” Jen moans, taking a long swig. “Sweet java delight. I really needed this.”

Ginny wiggles in next to her on the couch.

"Hey," she says after a moment. When Jen turns to look at her over the plastic coffee lid, Ginny's eyes are narrowed. "I texted you approximately fourteen times yesterday." Which is a lie, it was only six. Jen rolls her eyes. "Where were you?"

"I was...at _home_ , Ginny. Where were _you_ , Miss Pretends Like She Still Has Her Own Apartment?"

"Ha, ha." Ginny punches Jen's shoulder. "I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too! You guys really need to make a decision regarding your living situation. I mean, shit or get off the pot, right?"

Ginny slumps back into the couch. "It is still hysterical, how you think it's clever to use crude expressions ironically."

Jen taps her fingernails against the hardback in her lap. "Look, I appreciate the concern. I had my phone off yesterday, you know how sometimes I need a technology break."

Ginny leans her head against Jen's shoulder, fingers twisting around the tea string trailing from her own paper cup. "I'm just worried about you, honey."

Jen spends a brief moment feeling affronted because _she is an adult_ and supremely capable of not being coddled and worried over all the damn time. 

But Ginny is her best friend these days. Ginny loves her and admires her and doesn't let her forget it. So Jen straightens her spine a little and then tips her head onto Ginny's. 

"I'll keep my phone on next time," she assures. "Okay?"

 

The rain has mostly stopped, but it's way past dark. Jen and Lana are on their marks, waiting to be told that sound is up and the cameras are ready.

Lana toes the ground with a high-heeled boot. This is their first scene together since the beginning of shooting season and it is their last until after the holidays.

"Did you enjoy your coffee?"

Jen looks up.

"Earlier. I thought if you felt anything like I did today, you might need a pick me up."

Stuffing her hands more deeply into her sweater pockets, Jen clears her throat, then tries for a smile. "Oh yeah, thank you. I don't remember telling anyone I like toffeenut instead of vanilla."

Oh god, this is the lamest conversation ever, Jen thinks. 

"Ginny said you prefer soy and toffeenut compliments that better," Lana shrugs. "I was a coffee drone at this shop in Greenwich, back in the day."

"Really? I worked at a Starbucks in LA for awhile," Jen offers. 

"How histrionic of us." Lana's hair falls into her face and she reaches up to sweep it back carefully. 

They share a small smile and the rest of the waiting passes by a little less awkwardly.

 

[] [] [] 

 

One night, during the first week of January, Jen calls Lana again.

"Hi," she says, a bit tensely.

Lana puts down her lipstick slowly and swaps ears to hear better. "Hi."

"How were your holidays?"

"Really good," Lana says, like she's waiting for the catch. "How about yours?"

"Good." On the other end of the line, Jen bites her lip and waggles her foot in and out of her sandal. She probably shouldn't have called. "Did you go home?"

Lana doesn't move, just blinks forward to the mirror again, watches her own face as she replies. "Yeah, good old Brooklyn. Saw my cousins and aunts and uncles and everything. Had a snowball fight with my nieces and nephews on Christmas morning because it finally snowed more than an inch." Lana is great at talking about nothing, which suits Jen fine, because all she really wants is to listen. "What did you do?"

"Same, mostly. My family came out to LA." Lana hears a sigh of frustration that she probably wasn't supposed to.

"Jen," Lana says.

"Are you busy right now?"

Lana glances at the clock on her bathroom wall. She should be on her way into the city for a friend of a friend's gallery opening. She said she'd be there. Fred is working late and the boys are out on a double date. "No," she says finally. "Jen. Do you want to come over?"

Jen hates the way Lana is always so presumptuous, how she is always right. Her ears start feeling hot and she really, really shouldn't have called. "I'm still in LA."

"Ah," Lana turns, leans on the edge of the sink. She's wearing this tiny black dress and she starts to toe off her pumps. "You wanna talk for a little while?"

"No," Jen says, truthfully.

"Okay. Do you want to watch a movie?"

This makes Jen laugh. "What?"

"A _movie_ , Jen. Jesus." Jen can do this thing with her tone of voice that makes Lana feel like an idiot for trying.

"Uh, how do you propose we do that?"

"Flip on your TV. We're still in the same time zone."

Jen didn't really know where she was going with this phone conversation, so she actually feels relieved that Lana seems to understand what she wants even though she doesn't even know that herself. Jen is already in her bedroom, big bright LA lights twinkling behind her back beyond the window, so she grabs the remote.

"Are you sure you aren't busy?"

Lana is twisting up her cell charger and heading into the living room. "Nope," she says. She didn't really want to go out tonight, anyway. 

"Streetcar is on AMC." 

"Thank god for satellite," Lana sighs. "Everybody could use a little Blanche DuBoise to start the weekend off right."

Jen wants to say _thank you_ but can't quite bring herself to form the words, so instead she says, "I wish I had some of that fancy popcorn of yours."

Last time (the only time) they'd watched TV together, Lana had made the popcorn with jalapeño oil and garlic and real butter. It had been disgusting and messy and wonderful. 

"If you were here I'd make you all the popcorn you wanted," Lana replies, and it sounds a little like _any time, Jen_.

 

[] [] []

 

Paleyfest is the first weekend in March. It's a classy weekend, not as crazy or fan-driven as Comic-Con, but that doesn't mean it's not full of parties. Last year, Jen did all the publicity they asked of her, tents and panels and it was fine because it was Beverly Hills, and she could go home each night. Last year most of the core cast stuck around, too, except Lana and Bobby who went back to Vancouver early because that's where their families are. Jen's good at carpets and festivals but that doesn't mean she likes them very much. When it's Once stuff Ginny's the one that keeps her grounded, keeps her less hostile, less exhaustible.

This year everyone is staying the weekend, put up in big suites at the Four Seasons. This year the show is more popular and they've been scheduled more parties, more meet and greets.

Jen is riding in the back of a black SUV with Ginny and Josh, peering out the window through her sunglasses. It's Saturday evening and the sunset is warm and golden.

"I want to drink so much tonight," Jen says in a low voice, like she's already hungover.

"Free booze!" Josh supplies.

Ginny rubs her back gently. "Try not to think about Sebastian, okay?" Jen scowls. He's off filming in SoCal and they'd had it out before he left about...well, about something Jen can't even remember anymore. Dirty socks or romance or being a goddamn adult or something.

She rolls her eyes behind her big sunglasses and hates how she can't seem to find a partner who is on the same maturity level as her. Like, ever. Isn't this something she deserves, if not for anything else then as some sort of consolation prize for getting through the parade of total losers in her twenties (and a few of her thirties)? If she thinks too hard about it, she starts wondering if it's _her_ , if it's because she's scared, or worse, maybe somewhere deep down she _doesn't_ think she deserves it, maybe--

"So, so drunk," she repeats, firmly.

"At least you're successful in your professional life," Josh chimes in again, like it helps. It doesn't.

Ginny pats Jen's hair, smooths the blonde curls down her shoulder. "Joshua Dallas is a dork, don't listen to anything he says," she soothes.

 

[] [] []

 

Jen's got a vodka cranberry in hand and she's feeling pretty good, maybe a little reckless, but this is still work, so that keeps her in check.

She and Ginny are chattering around with the Paley Center people and the reporters and a few fans and the other mish mash hodge podge of people with laminates around their necks.

"They got me a hotel room," Jen is saying, once there's a break in conversations and it's just the two of them again. "I'm debating. Do I want to stay close to you guys, or head home? Ugh."

"Twenty minute difference," Ginny says.

Jen swirls around the last of her drink, tips it into her mouth. "We've got a private driver all weekend. I'd be alone though, not sure if I want that or not."

"Want what?" Lana's voice comes from Jen's immediate right as she saunters up next to them. It's loud in the big conference space and there's music going, muted blue lights splashing them all in cool colors. It feels, especially after three vodka cranberries, a little like everyone is under water.

Jen tenses, Ginny smiles and pulls Lana in for a hug and a kiss and they are saying something to one another but for all Jen can hear, they could have big bubbles billowing from their mouths. Everyone is trapped in this giant underwater party, Jen thinks. She averts her eyes and wishes she hadn't just finished her whole drink. Her fingers toy with the clear plastic cup.

Ginny is still talking with Lana but when Jen finally brings her eyes and full attention back to them, Lana is staring at her.

"--has shown up yet, but we're inviting everyone to breakfast before the panel," Ginny is saying. 

"Definitely!" Lana exclaims, flicking her eyes away from Jen now, not missing a beat. "I've got Sam with me tomorrow but his mom's dropping him off right beforehand, so breakfast, yes yes."

Josh appears to tug on Ginny's arm and more bubbles start billowing from their mouths.

Lana's voice is sudden and so, so close. It is the one voice she can hear perfectly. "How are you?"

Jen feels weird, jittery, a little drunk. But she can act. "Great."

Lana's red lips purse. They glitter purple in the blue light. When she speaks, her teeth flash behind them and Jen resettles her gaze somewhere past Lana's left shoulder. "You wanna come grab a drink with me?"

Jen doesn't have a good reason to decline. She follows behind Lana through the mess of people, weaving in and out of bubble conversations until they hit the bar. Lana lays both palms flat against it and asks for something with tequila in it. Her laugh is booming and Jen can practically feel how overwhelmed the kid behind the bar is because Lana is being...Lana, flirting and maintaining eye contact and appearing to _care_. Jen smiles a little and rolls her eyes, despite herself.

When Lana turns around with two shots and two lime wedges, words like _Inappropriate_ and _Hell No_ shoot across Jen's mind, but whatever, it's not like she isn't already kind of toasted and everyone drinks too much at these things anyway.

There's another flash of white, white teeth and " _Salud_ ", Lana's tongue rolling along the _u_ and halting against the _d_ and Jen wishes she would stop drawing attention to her mouth like that. 

"Yeah, cheers," Jen manages, and the liquor is salty and strong, the lime sweet and wet in the aftermath. She feels Lana's hand settle low against her back and she's still reeling, a little light headed.

"Ginny told me about Baz," Lana confesses, and her voice is too close again. "I know we're working, but you deserve this tonight."

Jen spends a brief moment feeling prickled that Ginny went and blabbed, but then she remembers that Lana is safe, in that unsettling way. Still, she doesn't want to fall apart in front of anyone but herself (she can barely even tolerate that). 

"Yeah," Jen sighs. "It's just...a weird time, right now."

Lana nods. 

"I'm gonna go," Jen says, twisting away from Lana's touch. "Walk around a little. Thanks for the drink."

The way Lana is looking at her is unsettling in that same familiar way, like she wants to say something to Jen, like she knows something about Jen that Jen doesn't know herself.

"Sure," Lana says, finally. She's already turning back to the bar. "See you later, then."

 

[] [] []

 

Later then is with Ginny and Josh and Colin outside on the deck. Jen doesn't smoke but everyone else wants to so she tags along, brain fuzzy, still hovering around the pleasant part of almost-drunk.

Lana is across the patio chatting with Bobby and Emilie and a few people Jen doesn't recognize. Her eyes feel heavy when she peers over, watches Lana laugh at something someone is saying, those unfamiliar people around her gesticulating wildly. She watches Lana tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

Lana is watching Jen, too. Lana isn't smoking, not anymore, but the tendrils of it curl around her face and everything feels hazy. When they lock eyes for the first time, Jen thinks Lana's look unnervingly _black_ and she has to grasp onto the fact of holding the gaze like she'd grasp onto a ledge to keep from falling. 

 

[] [] []

 

They meet again in the bathroom accidentally (not so accidentally) and it's dim and hazy in there, too. 

Jen is staring at her own face in the mirror, hands braced against the sink, thinking about going home when Lana slides in and closes the door. Locks it. 

"Um," Jen says, because she doesn't know what else to say, because she can feel her heartbeat in her throat.

Lana doesn't say anything, doesn't try to touch her again, for which Jen is grateful. She is familiar with Lana's body and with Lana, they've blocked scenes for hours, recently even, often trying to choreograph the ways in which they could pretend to strangle or hit or slam, but it's different now.

"Okay, out with it," Lana says, finally, as if Jen has the faintest clue what she's talking about. As if they are simply continuing a previous conversation.

"Lana, what are you--"

"--no, _Jen_ , you don't get to do this. You need to talk to me."

"About?"

Lana laughs. "Jesus. About everything. What is going on, here, with us? With you?"

Jen twists in the spine a little, fingers readjusting on the porcelain sink. Gripping tighter. She closes her eyes. "Nothing," she says.

"It doesn't feel like nothing. You keep seeking me out and I've been patient. It obviously has nothing to do with work, which is why I'm not freaking out. I give you my time and whatever else it is you seem to want from me, but the moment I try to actually help you, you run away."

Jen grits her teeth. "We aren't _friends_ , Lana."

Lana is watching Jen's face in the mirror, in the dim amber light. "Sure," she says, more softly than Jen expects. "But we've been doing _something_ here. And if you want to come to me when you're fucked up and don't want anyone else to know, that's fine." Here, Jen opens her eyes, and Lana continues. "I'll be whatever you need me to be. The thing is, I don't think you _know_ what you need me to be."

Jen scoffs, but it comes off a little pitiful. This may be true, but one thing she _does_ know is that she doesn't want Lana for real life truth-telling, and right now, that's where this seems to be going. "Maybe not," Jen snaps. "I don't know, I don't get it either, and I'm sorry. I'm not even thinking half the time. I'm just...reacting."

"I have a theory," Lana says. "I think you're right. I think you have no idea what you're doing generally, or what you need from me in particular." She steps closer, two slow heel clicks against the marble floor. "But I do."

Jen turns, finally, to face her. The look on Lana's face is breathtaking in its integrity, the way she will always hold Jen's heavy-lidded eyes steady, always bring them back if they wander. The way she always seems so sure of _something_.

"You get so frustrated," Lana murmurs. She leans forward now, reaches for Jen's face, the touch of her fingers more familiar than it should be. Jen feels sluggish so she doesn't protest, even though it's her first instinct. "You run away when I...when _anyone_..."

Lana doesn't finish the thought, just begins to angle her body still closer to Jen's, slowly, fingers elongating and slipping past soft skin into golden hair. She moves like honey dripping and Jen's head spins, teeters, tips. She has to close her eyes again to the reality of it, to the way it feels, the visceral tug in her gut.

" _There_." Lana's voice is still soft but the word itself is abrupt, like an epiphany. "You're doing it again. There's always this moment, but then you harden and cast it aside."

Jen shakes her head. She's too drunk for this. She's not drunk enough for this. How can Lana possibly see these parts of her, the parts that ruin, the parts she still won't look at full in the face? "I don't know what you're trying to say, Lana, I don't know what you _mean_ \--"

Lana frowns, but Jen doesn't see it, just keeps her eyelids shut tight. Lana's other hand joins the first and they both slip back, back into Jen's hair, over and over, soothing, coaxing, thumbs brushing jaw and cheek and chin. "You really don't, do you," she whispers. Her dark eyebrows knit together. She wants Jen to be okay so badly, for Jen herself and for everyone who loves her now and for everyone who will love her later and for their work and for so many reasons. "Maybe, I don't know. Have I not made it clear? I'm here for you. We don't have to be friends. I think that's why it works."

Gradually, Jen lets those eyelids open, but when she does, she looks at Lana's wrists instead of at her face. 

"I'm _here_ ," Lana repeats. 

There has been tension and distance between them for no good reason since they met but there's also been that _some_ sort of heat, that propellant, and it usually only comes out when they act together. At work there is trust because there _has_ to be, but the heat isn't anything they sanctioned or consciously built. Right now, Lana thinks, that warmth is starting to fill up all the empty space between them. It's starting to give itself a purpose.

Jen is starting to understand, too, just a little. She’s starting to understand how this makes no sense until she stops trying to _make_ it make sense. She's starting to feel and soften and take cues, move on impulse just like acting, spurred by heat and words and frustration and soft, firm fingers with nails the color of black cherries. 

Lana's back hits the stall divider, but Jen isn't sure where to put her hands after that. Luckily, she doesn't have to think much further because Lana's got her fists curled in the lapels of Jen's jacket and she tugs her closer, Jen's palms slamming into the divider on either side of Lana's shoulders just to keep some balance.

"That felt good, right?" Lana asks, on the breath of her exhale. Jen's fingers are tensing against cool metal and something hot shoots across her skin beneath her clothes, settles low in her belly. "It felt good because you know you don't have to worry with me. I'm here but I'm not close. You trust me whether you like it or not. I care about you whether I like it or not. Do you understand? We aren’t acting anymore."

Jen makes a small noise in the back of her throat, something desperate and unsure.

Lana's grip slackens, drops to Jen's hips, tightens again.

Jen feels like she's going crazy, but nothing in a long time has felt this close to release and security both. She hesitates at first to touch Lana back because _yeah_ , Jesus Christ, this is _real_ and weird and....no, it's too good, _too_ real, too weird. She needs to stop.

"I don't even know if I like you," she whispers, because it's the truth.

"You don't have to." 

"It doesn't make things between us weigh any less," Jen concedes. Her eyes are eager even though she doesn't want them to be, and what she doesn't say is that it doesn't make her _want_ Lana here with her any less.

Lana nods slowly, like she heard anyway. 

"Will you...come back to my place with me?" Jen asks, and god, she wants to throw herself from a sixteenth story window but Lana's fingers are curling inside her belt loops and she can't bring herself to think about how this might be a bad idea, about how she doesn't even know what _this_ is (it might actually be the best idea she's ever had).

"Yes." Lana says, and Jen can't not love how firm an answer it is. She never gets anything but ambiguity and platitudes these days. She isn't sure if she wants to be held or to be fucked or just to talk, she doesn't know, she just lets Lana peel her away from herself again and lead her out the bathroom door. 

 

[] [] []

 

It's easy enough to slip away from the party, and Jen hangs out near the back entrance and waits for the car while Lana tells Ginny she's getting Jen home.

Ginny's eyes narrow briefly but she’s still drinking, so she doesn't remind Lana about how they hate each other or anything, she just says "tell her to get some sleep, I love her, and that we'll see her at breakfast".

In the car, they don't speak at all, but Lana traces serpentine shapes into the skin of Jen's forearm with a single fingernail; Jen can barely breathe, she feels like she's running scared, floating right up off the ground.

 

[] [] []

 

Jen's place is beautiful. It's a nice sized loft in a great neighborhood, decorated in smooth neutrals, fresh lilies in a blue vase on the coffee table in the living room. Lana wonders when Jen has the time to get something like fresh flowers for an apartment she only spends a few days a month in, or if she has someone do it for her even while she's away.

There is a small lamp on the sideboard in the hallway that Jen flips on, and it casts a faint golden light over everything in its wide-angled radius. Only enough to make out shapes with no details.

They've waded their way through the living room and the thick tension between them, Lana following Jen into the kitchen, shrugging off jackets and discarding clutches on the way. Lana already feels comfortable here. It smells like Jen, and it seems to have soaked up all the good energy the woman has to offer. Lana has lived so many places in the company of so many different people and loved them all. It isn't hard for her to make herself at home in a new place, especially not in this one, as Jen turns to stare at her with a bite of nervousness as though she’s worried about what Lana might think (she is almost always worried about what Lana might think).

There is a big bare window to the east, and the rest of LA sparkles and winks and glimmers at them, a mirage, close and far away at the same time.

"Why are you really doing this?" Jen asks now, loud in the utter silence of the place, a little more comfortable here than back in that Paley Center bathroom (though not by much). She still looks too small and skinny in her coral colored slacks and that white shirt that hangs like a loose sheet on the line around her collarbones, shoulders hunched and fists twitching. She is a painfully private person and having Lana here in her apartment, having _asked_ her here, feels kind of like dropping a lit match into the center of her own gasoline-doused palm.

"You asked," Lana just shrugs, shuffling nearer. "I wanted."

Jen almost laughs. "Yeah, but you never said _why_. I've never, I mean we've never really--even in the past few months--"

"--god, Jen. We've been over this. Whatever it is and all the reasons for it don't matter, it's _here_. Aren't you tired of asking why?"

Jen swallows. The words prick at her chest like bee stings, swelling up and up and up until her throat feels sore and she can't seem to speak. She _is_ tired and no, she doesn't want to think about why anymore, she just doesn't know what else to do besides ask and ask because she still has exactly zero acceptable answers. "Yeah," she says thickly. "I guess I'm just worried."

"About what?" 

"About, Christ, I don't know. Why I feel so reckless all the time, like I'm _sixteen_ again, why I distance myself from everyone who cares about me, why I can't make a relationship work, why my career isn't enough, why I feel lost every single day and why it's _you_ of all fucking people that makes me...makes me--"

Jen halts abruptly instead of trailing off, and Lana is staring at her through the dark, wondering how far Jen will go with this tonight, wondering what she needs most in this moment, and how Lana can give it to her without scaring her away again. 

"Sometimes," Lana says gently, "people come into your life and you aren't sure why, but they just...help. They matter when maybe they shouldn't." Lana doesn't know how to explain it, the way she feels drawn to Jennifer, like there is a debt between them that she means to pay. The way she would forfeit sleep and sanity to pick Jen up in the middle of the night from a club she is too old to be at in the first place, the way she would cook Jen the sort of intimate dinner that she usually only cooks for her family, the way she just wants to touch Jen over and over again until she's _okay_.

"And I am telling you," Lana continues, "that I can’t fix everything, but maybe I can help. All you have to do is ask. With me, all you have to do is ask." There’s a breathlessness in Lana’s voice that Jen wishes she hadn’t heard because it makes this harder. It makes this harder by making it easier.

Jen meets Lana's eyes and she feels like she's sobering up way too fast, and Lana's eyelashes are so long, and her tongue darts suddenly to the scar on her upper lip, and so Jen does something stupid and impulsive and brave, something she's wanted to do for such a long time now that she's almost convinced herself she doesn't want it at all. She spills forward, all hot skin and fading dark eyeliner, tousled blonde hair that's stiff and unruly from a night of too much hairspray. Lana catches every drop of her, runs her hands along Jen's bare arms and tilts her head up, opens her mouth at a better angle for Jen to kiss. 

"Distract me," Jen whispers frantically, but she's doing a good job of it herself, hands smoothing across Lana's cheeks, pulling and pushing her, and _lips_ \--everywhere--

Lana gasps and then moans and Jen sucks the sounds in hungrily while Lana tucks a quick "took you long enough" somewhere beneath all the fingers and skin and tongue.

There’s a rustling of hands against fabrics, Lana pushing Jen’s hips right back into the countertop she’d just leapt up from, and easing her knee between them.

"You sure?" Lana whispers, and Jen just moans in this way that sounds like a whine, like a please, and Lana kisses her again, fingertips fumbling against Jen's slick leather belt. It's been such a long night, it's been such a long three years, and she doesn't need to be told twice. "Why the kitchen?"

"Fuck, god, I don't know, maybe I thought we could make some snacks..."

Lana's laugh is throaty, the same way it was earlier back at the bar, but it sounds much more genuine this time. Lana supposes the kitchen is neutral territory, more personal than the living room but less so than the bedroom, a halfway point between the two, a compromise.

It doesn't matter, anyway, because they don't need a bed for this. The belt slips out from around Jen's waist and thwaps to the floor, Lana lets her hands trail back again, slip under the shirt and smooth across Jen's stomach. The goosebumps are already there to greet her.

Jen can see that skyline mirage reflected in the glass of her cupboards, and she closes her eyes, disconnects and reconnects. Lana's mouth is sucking on the pulse point of her neck and then there's two rows of (perfect white) teeth (behind red blue purple lips) softly biting an earlobe and she can barely breathe, she can barely think, it feels so good. She winds her long arms up over Lana's shoulders and thrusts both hands deeply into her hair.

They are pulling one another in, skin to skin, they wiggle and squirm to squeeze out all the little empty spaces between them like flicking air from a long, thin needle. Clothing becomes a vaguely annoying obstacle, something to be shoved aside or crawled beneath rather than discarded completely.

There is a moment where Jen thinks this might end faster than it started, because Lana drops down and drags her mouth in a hot wet diagonal from belly button to nipple, tongue flicking, curling, but then it's over, Lana is back at eye level, and Jen is still clutching at her in that same desperate way.

It plays out fast and loose anyway, Lana twists Jen's body around and presses into her back, pushing Jen into the counter’s ledge, curves molding around curves. She hooks her arms around Jen's waist and then dips her hands below. Jen watches two wrists slip past the lacing of her underwear before she has to close her eyes. Lana’s fingertips slip a little in the (so, so) wet, exploring boldly, but then she finds one sweet spot, starts to stroke with her fingers and palm. She holds Jen close, lets Jen rock back against her, lets her find their best rhythm.

It's fire, it's so much to feel. Jen uses one arm to brace against the counter, one to hold onto the back of Lana's neck, and she isn't even sure where her feet are anymore, if gravity stuck around for this part.

"You've done this before," she manages.

"Shh," Lana's breath hits the slope where Jen's neck meets her shoulder, her lips chase it, and she's murmuring something else now, something about Jen being beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and it hurts a little, the way her heart starts drumming a little bit louder, a little bit faster.

And Jen is, she is _so_ beautiful, and Lana is having a hard time thinking clearly through all the movement building between them because the thoughts of Jen are so loud. They leave her breathless and shaking and if they weren't keeping one another upright right now, Lana is sure she'd crumple to the ground.

So instead, she counts to keep concentration, one, two, three, four, slow kisses and strokes and the highs and lows of the way their bodies flow, until Jen's breath quickens and her body tenses one last time and all the counts she'd gathered finally spill out onto the floor. 

Jen trembles coming down.

Lana knows that the moment following this one is where things generally begin to get awkward. She won't fight it, she never does with Jen, so she just presses one chaste kiss like a tiny flower into the space where Jen's jaw melts into throat, withdraws her fingers, and slowly steps away.

Even when they're acting, Jen needs this space. 

Jen is bending forward over the counter. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck."

Lana licks her lips, curls her hands into damp fists at her sides. 

"God, fuck," Jen says again, and then finally picks her head up. She flips around and looks at Lana. "Oh, fuck." And then she smiles. 

Lana feels something inside of her crack from top to bottom. A thin, clean line, and her whole body feels weak for it. 

She aches. She smiles back. She searches her chest for a breath that doesn't come. 

Jen's lips look bee stung in the darkened kitchen and it is _devastating_ and she says to Lana, "Just so you know, I don't ever like to leave a score unsettled." 

 

[] [] []

 

In the morning, Lana wakes to sun streaming above her and a soft mattress beneath her. Jen's arm is flung out across her belly and they're both on top of the sheets, underwear but no bra.

It is the cool clear light of day, and Lana sits up carefully. She looks down at Jen's sleeping face for such a long, long time, but she doesn't feel anything like worry or regret. Just the sunshine.

 

Lana is sweeping a curl back from Jen's cheek when she opens her eyes. Lana braces, but nothing happens.

Well, that's not true. Jen hooks an index finger around Lana's, and her gaze doesn't waver, and that is definitely not nothing. 

It's terribly sweet for all of half a second, and then, "Shit, breakfast."

"We've got an hour," Lana is yelling after the bathroom door slams.

"There's a guy meeting me at the hotel beforehand!"

Lana laughs. "Um yeah, sweetie, me too. But they're not making the hair and makeup rounds ‘til eleven."

Jen peeps her head out from around the bathroom door, takes the toothbrush from her mouth.

"You positive?"

Lana pulls the sheet up a little. "Positive. I wasn't so gone that I forgot to set an alarm last night."

There it is, Lana thinks, when Jen immediately freezes. She runs a hand through her dark, dark hair. "Look, I'll get out of here. I'm going to grab you some aspirin first, okay? You're doing that squinty thing you always do when your head's killing you."

 

When Lana is fully dressed, Jen pads out of the bathroom in unzipped jeans.

“How’s your head?”

“Better, thanks.”

“I think I’ll skip out on breakfast,” Lana tells her.

Jen groans. “Hey, don’t--just...Lana, you told Ginny you’d be there.”

Lana smiles. “Yeah but you’re, you know, _you_. I want to give you some space. I knew what I was getting myself into.” 

There is a pause, and Lana watches Jen’s face carefully because she’s pretty sure Jen _didn’t_.

“I’ll see you after the panel, or whenever. Okay?”

Lana reaches for the doorknob. Jen catches her wrist. She slides a thumb across the black feather, and lets go.

 

Lana spends the rest of the morning drinking too much coffee. She sits in a chair in the hotel room she didn’t sleep in and lets two guys poke and prod at her hair, at her face, dress her down and paint her back up. She thinks about lilies in blue vases and the way city lights sparkle from beyond a big glass window.

She just wants Jen to be okay.

 

[] [] [] 

 

The phone call comes around eleven, when Lana is in a car, being whisked back to the hotel after a gruelling round of press. She’s tired but she’s exhilarated because she loves her job so, so much.

“Do you remember your first kiss?”

It’s bizarre, but she just laughs through the way her heartbeat starts to careen. “Yes. Second grade, Jimmy Antonelli.”

“You know how afterwards you like, just wanted to scream about it from the rooftops and tell all your friends but also there was a part of you that felt a little guilty, and a lot weird, and so you kept your mouth shut?”

“Yes,” Lana says again, slowly.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Jen immediately regrets saying it because that makes it sound like Jen is lovesick and elated when _really_ what she means is: she literally cannot stop thinking about last night and it is a problem she wants a solution.

Lana seems to get it. Jen breathes out a sigh of relief. Lana always gets it.

“Well, I told you I’m a damn good kisser.”

On the other end of the line, Jen kicks at the ground. She laughs. It feels real and it feels wonderful. “I believed you. But _fuck_.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, too,” Lana confesses. Like it’s a surprise to either of them.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lana peers up at the driver, but he’s on his phone, too. “Anything.”

“Do you love Fred?”

Lana looks at the floor, takes in her heels, and sighs. “Completely.”

There’s silence now. If it’s true, then Jen still cannot fathom _why_.

“But we have an agreement. I’m not unfaithful.”

Still more silence, and then in a weaker voice Jen asks, “Did you really know what you were getting yourself into?”

“I thought I did. I think I still do. Things were already awkward between us, Jen. They’ve been awkward for years. I told you, I think that’s why this works. It won’t affect the job, it won’t affect anything. I promise.”

Jen is in the alleyway outside a bar in Venice right now, leaning up against neon bathed brick. Ginny will be expecting her back soon. It doesn’t really take this long to pee. “You’re right,” she says finally.

“We aren’t friends,” Lana reminds her gently, in a way that sounds more like _everything is going to be okay_.

Jen sniffs. “Yeah.”

After debating for a moment, Lana decides fuck it, and says, “I’m always going to be here. All you ever have to do is ask.”

It grazes pretty close and it reminds her too much of Lana’s lips, and Jen feels her eyes fill up, hot and stinging. She wonders how fucked up it is that she ever got to this point, the point where her most honest relationship isn’t a relationship at all, and with a woman she doesn’t particularly like but can’t stop thinking about.

But then again, she doesn’t have to work at this one, it comes so naturally, so softly. It only hardens when she pushes it away.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know,” Jen says with a crooked smile that Lana can’t see, but that she can feel and hear.

“Oh god, a compliment. Jesus, I need to go lie down.”

Jen scoffs. Lana smiles.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Jen says.

“Jen?”

Jen brings her ear back to the receiver. “Yeah?”

“You’re not so bad, either.”

 

After they hang up, Jen indulges in the moment and lets her head fall back against the wall. She takes a deep breath in, lets it out. Something inside of her feels lighter, and something feels a little heavier, but the feelings seem to even out in a way they never have before.

 

“Everything okay?” Ginny asks, her eyebrows knitting, when Jen reappears at the table.

Jen slides in close to her best friend, slips her phone back inside her purse. “Yeah,” she says. When she smiles, it doesn’t even hurt. “Everything is okay.”

 

 

\---


End file.
